Yamo watched the fight in silence as the two mutants battered each other in the ring.
Soap bubbles detonated with concussive force, stone skin cracked and reformed, and the crowd roared every time blood hit the floor.
He turned to the man beside him. "Next fight," Yamo said calmly. "I'll take it."
All nine eyes shifted to him at once. The man smiled.
"Straight to business," he said pleasantly. "I like that."
He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded toward the arena. "Since you're new, you'll start at Tier Four. We call them Rats. First-timers. Untested. Cheap."
Yamo listened attentively .
"Tier Four fighters get one hundred dollars just for stepping into the ring," the man continued. "That's your appearance fee. You fight, you get paid. Simple."
One eye flicked up toward the betting boards above them, numbers rolling constantly. "On top of that, all fighters receive a cut of the bets. Tier Four gets one percent of the total pool. Win or lose. You risk your body either way."
"And if I win?" Yamo asked.
The man shrugged. "Fame. Better odds next time. Maybe a bonus if the crowd loves you."
Yamo nodded once. Then he reached into his jacket. He placed one hundred and fifty dollars neatly onto the counter.
After that, he pulled out a sock.
He untied it and let the contents spill out beside the bills—mostly quarters, some loose change clattering loudly as they hit the surface.
"About 180 dollars in total," Yamo said. "Put it on me."
Several of the nine eyes narrowed slightly. "Confident," the man said. "Or reckless."
"I don't see the difference," Yamo replied.
The man chuckled softly and swept the money aside. "Very well. Bet accepted."
A particularly loud explosion echoed from the ring as another bubble detonated.
The man gestured toward the tunnel entrance. "When this fight ends, you're up. Tier Four debut."
Yamo turned toward the ring, his posture relaxed and breathing steady. He was nervous, but his strong physique provided him with sufficient confidence to overcome it.
–Half an hour later
The previous fight ended ugly.
The soap-bubble mutant was on his knees, coughing foam and blood, hands shaking as another bubble fizzled out of his mouth before it could fully form.
Across from him, the stone-skinned fighter stood barely upright, chest heaving, cracked plates of petrified skin falling off in chunks with blood trickling down all over his upper body.
The referee hesitated—then slammed his hand down.
"Winner—Gravelhide!"
The crowd erupted, not impressed, just relieved.
"ABOUT DAMN TIME!"
"HE ATE EVERYTHING!"
"STONE TYPES ALWAYS WIN UGLY!"
Gravelhide tried to raise his arm but almost toppled over instead. Two staff members rushed in, dragging him out before his legs gave up entirely.
As he passed the tunnel, stone flaked off his skin in chunks, revealing deep purple bruises underneath. He sustained several broken bones during the match.
A bettor snorted. "Tank builds win once and retire crippled."
Another laughed. "Doesn't matter. I cashed out."
The ring crew swarmed in immediately. Blood wiped. Canvas tightened. Ropes checked. MMM didn't like pauses and the crowd didn't either.
Click. Click. Click
The lights dimmed.
Then they exploded back to life, stadium lamps blazing down so hard the ring looked like it was under interrogation.
Cameras adjusted overhead, lenses clicking softly as red lights blinked on. Yamo noticed every single one.
'So it's not just the idiots here,' he thought. 'Sponsors too. Good.'
The announcer's voice boomed through crackling speakers.
"Alright, gamblers, degenerates, and valued partners watching from somewhere safe and legal—welcome back to MMM — Mutant Money Matches!
The crowd screamed.
"Next bout! Tier Four! Low cost! High risk! Medical waivers signed in advance!"
Laughter rippled through the stands.
"In the red corner—returning Rat with a reputation for collapsing buildings and people—give it up for DEADWEIGHT!"
Deadweight stepped into the ring. The canvas creaked under his boots. He was a little over two meters..
He was already massive in stature and mass, but as he rolled his shoulders, his mutation kicked in.
His muscles swelled, veins bulged like cables, and the sheer density of him changed. It wasn't just size—his presence felt heavier.
The announcer leaned into it.
"Deadweight's mutation allows him to multiply his own mass at will! Not strength—mass! Every step hits harder, every blow carries crushing force!"
Deadweight stomped once.
BOOM.
The ring shook.
"HE CAN'T JUMP! HE CAN'T DODGE!" the announcer continued. "But if he connects, whatever he hits stays down!"
Someone in the crowd yelled, "SIT ON HIM!"
Another screamed, "BREAK THE RING AGAIN!"
Deadweight grinned and slapped his chest. "You're all about to see a splat."
The announcer raised his voice again.
"And in the blue corner—making his debut tonight! No record! No reputation! And no health insurance!"
The lights shifted. Yamo stepped out in his colorful clothes, wearing a mask that covered his face, and his long brown Sajyan tail swayed freely left and right with his every step.
The arena went quiet for half a second.
Then it erupted.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT TAIL?!"
"IS THIS A JOKE FIGHT?!"
"YO IS THAT A MONKEY?!"
Yamo sighed as he walked into the arena. Cameras zoomed in immediately.
The announcer squinted at his datapad. "Fighter name listed as… Young Monkey!"
The crowd lost its mind.
"OHH OOH AH AH!"
"CLIMB A TREE!"
"HEY MONKEY, THROW POOP!"
Yamo sighed again. Under his breath, barely audible, "I'm a Saiyan, you idiots…"
Deadweight laughed loud and deep. "That's your name? What are you, a mascot?"
Yamo looked up at him. "And you're Deadweight. Sounds about right."
"OHHHH!" the crowd roared.
Betting boards flickered.
Deadweight — 1.6 : 1
Young Monkey — 4.5 : 1
"FREE MONEY!"
"MONKEY'S GETTING FLATTENED!"
One drunk voice screamed, "I LIKE THE TAIL THOUGH!"
The referee stepped between them. "Rules are simple. No leaving the ring. No touching the crowd. Killing is discouraged."
Deadweight cracked his neck. "You won't feel the first hit."
Yamo tilted his head. "Let's test that."
DING.
The bell rang. Deadweight charged forward immediately.
The floor thundered with every step as his mass multiplied mid-run. His fist came down like a falling engine block.
Yamo raised his arms and blocked.
Thud.
The impact slammed into his forearms and drove him back several feet, boots skidding across the mat.
His eyes widened slightly. 'Heavy,' he thought. 'Way heavier than it looks.'
The crowd screamed. "HE BLOCKED IT?!"
Deadweight laughed. "That tickled your bones, didn't it?"
Yamo rolled his shoulders, letting the vibration settle.
'Okay… don't overdo it.' Yamo stepped in low and delivered a kidney shot—controlled, restrained, nowhere near full power.
The blow landed solidly against Deadweight's body.
Nothing.
Deadweight didn't even flinch. Yamo frowned under his mask. '…Too light.'
Deadweight swung again. This time Yamo didn't block. He caught the fist with his face.
The impact hurled him backward. He hit the ropes hard enough to rattle the ring and dropped to one knee.
The crowd went wild.
"YES!"
"THAT'S IT!"
"STAY DOWN!"
Yamo exhaled slowly, his chest buzzing as if something had been lit inside him. The dizziness from the punch was lingering at the edges, but beneath it his blood felt hot—alive.
This was it. This was the part of him that never learned restraint, the Saiyan instinct that loved the fight itself. No tricks. No clever techniques. Just a straight up brawl.
Deadweight stomped closer, weight increasing with every step. "Still standing? You're tougher than you look, Monkey."
Yamo stood up and smiled faintly. "I wanted to give you a fair chance."
Deadweight snarled and swung again. Yamo blocked—then let the second hit land square in his torso against his unprotected ribs.
BOOM.
Pain bloomed across his ribs, sharp and honest. The ring shook. Yamo had the wind knocked out of him.
The crowd went insane.
"HE ATE IT!"
"WHAT IS THIS KID MADE OF?!"
Yamo slid back a step, regaining his breath.
'Alright,' he thought. 'Now I know. Fighting isn't as scary as I thought. It's fun' Nobody could see it, but Yamo smiled under his mask
Deadweight was breathing harder now. His shoulders heaved. His steps slowed just a fraction.
The announcer noticed. "Deadweight's power comes at a cost, folks! More mass means more strain—this isn't a long-fight build!"
Yamo circled him slowly. Deadweight swung again, slower now. Yamo dodged easily, slipping inside the arc of his punch and tapping Deadweight's ribs with two fingers—ki gathered, precise.
Deadweight staggered half a step. 'H-he broke a rib' He looked at his small colorful opponent circling him and his arrogant gaze disappeared.
The crowd fell quiet. Deadweight blinked. "What…?" Yamo tapped his body 3 times more but this time weaker.
Yamo smiled. "Found your center of mass"
Deadweight roared and slammed both feet down, multiplying his weight to his maximum. The canvas screamed. The ropes shook violently.
"I'LL PIN YOU!" he shouted. "YOU CAN'T HURT ME!"
He and went all out and charged forward, but Yamo didn't dodge.
At the last moment before Yamo entered Deadweights reach, Yamo shifted his stance, grounded himself like Gokz, and struck upward with a powerful single high kick—ki imbued, controlled, aimed not to break, but to lift.
Deadweight's eyes widened. His own mass betrayed him. For a split second, he left the ground.
Not high. Just enough to feel weightless.
He crashed onto his back like a collapsing building. The ring buckled. The crowd lost its mind.
"NO WAY!"
"GET UP!"
"MONKEY DID IT!"
Deadweight tried to move, but he couldn't. His stamina was burned up and his own weight pinned him.
The referee counted.
"One"
Deadweight recudes his weight and strained, veins bulging, to stand up.
"Eight…"
"Nine…"
His fist slammed the mat in frustration.
"Ten!"
DING.
Chaos. Yamo stepped out the ring, breathing steady.
Cameras zoomed in. Betters leaned forward while Yamo looked down at Deadweight calmly. "Next time… don't rely only on your mutation and train more "
Deadweight looked puzzled at Young Monkey, because he sounded sincere. Then he fell unconscious and fell asleep.
Yamo didn't take these fights personal, most of them had the same goal – money.
Yamo grinned from ear to ear under his mask. 'I wonder how much I made. A few more fights and maybe I can eat something else for breakfast thsn rice and beans.'